


return to you

by floating (bewitchings)



Category: Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004), Social Network (2010)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Experimental, F/F, F/M, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-07
Updated: 2011-11-07
Packaged: 2017-10-25 20:04:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/274213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bewitchings/pseuds/floating
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr and Mr Hughes-Moskovitz.<br/>Eduardo Saverin has had Mark Zuckerberg erased from his memory. Please never mention their relationship to him again. Thank you.<br/>LACUNA, LTD.<br/>424 GRAND STREET, NY, NY.</p>
            </blockquote>





	return to you

\--

“Is anybody sitting here?”  
Mark slips his headphones down to his collarbones as he looks up at the stranger before him. He offers a wary smile before shaking his head and knotting his fingers together.

That’s quite a loud jumper thinks Mark as the stranger sits down. It’s orange, albeit a dull shade and by the tattered look of it; hand made.  
The other man is all elbows, nudging mark in the ribs as he digs through a time worn navy backpack.  
Mark wants to complain, wants to get up out of the seat, wants to buy this man something new because the only possession relatively modern looking is the Sylvia Plath tome on his lap, and even that appears second hand.  
There are at least a dozen free seats on the bus and yet this lanky guy with a stupid woolly hat is practically sitting on top of him.  
The other man notices Mark’s pained expression and has the decency to blush. Before he says simply;  
“It’s cold.”

And strangely, today, it’s enough.

There’s a familiar emblem stuck onto the backpack, red and gold.  
“You went to Harvard?”  
The man nods and plays with the strings dangling from his hat idly, he catches Mark’s incredulous look and smiles.  
“I know, I don’t look it. Did you go?”  
“Do I look it?”  
He throws his head back and laughs until all Mark can see is the smooth curve of his adam’s apple on a stretch of tanned skin.  
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Mark mutters, unable to supress the small grin forming on his lips.

Silence lapses and Mark watches the wires lap up and down through the frosty window as the bus blinks past the barren landscape, like a balding person flicking back singular strands out of habit, forgetting the desolate nature of their bare head. He sees the man beside him staring out of the same window, his features reflected in triplicate.

“It’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow you know,” the man has his lips far too near to Mark’s ear, he’s not used to people coming this close to him, he doesn’t usually allow it and people just really don’t want to come this close to him. Yet Mark jerks his head into an awkward nod, his neck stiffening as the man comes even closer, his top lip brushing gently across Mark’s earlobe. “I’m Eduardo.”

“Do you always have such blatant disregard for a stranger’s personal space like this?”

Eduardo laughs again, this time softer.

“Sometimes.”

 

\--

 

Mark’s sitting inside his car outside the station. Although it’s dark he can just about make out Eduardo rubbing at his florescent sleeves underneath the bus shelter, jaw chattering, knees wobbling. The sky threatens to snow and the car windows have begun to cloud around Eduardo’s dimming silhouette.

He regrets calling out his name just as it tumbles from his mouth and into an intelligible mess.

Eduardo turns around and walks towards the car window with slight hesitation hindering his step.

“You want to give me a lift?”  
“No, I want to drive you home but I know a few people who could help you find an adequate elevator.”  
Eduardo scoffs and rubs his hands together.  
“Lift is the English way of saying elevator.”  
“Wrong, elevator is also an English word.”  
“I hope you’re not a serial killer.”

Mark pushes the tomes and dusty novels off the passenger seat as Eduardo pulls open the door with a lopsided grin.

“I hope so too.”

 

\--

 

Green, orange, blue, red and yellow fill the room. Eduardo has different coloured lamps scattered across the floor in between obscure magazines and neglected items of clothing. Along his shelves lay odd collections of bottles, some labelled bizarre things like draught of living death and a forget me not potion.

“So if you’re not an elevator salesman or a serial killer, what do you do?”  
“I created a website, I’m the CEO.”  
Eduardo hands Mark a cracked mug filled with wine, Mark takes a sip before Eduardo takes it out of his hand and gulps it down himself.  
“What website?” He burps and apologises profusely, cheeks rouging slightly even as Mark smiles.  
“Facebook.”

The mug pauses at Eduardo’s lips. His eyebrows knot in confusion for a moment before he just shrugs and swigs down the rest of the wine.

“Never heard of it.”

 

\--

 

Being with Eduardo is comforting, thinks Mark. Yet it’s more than just being with someone for the company or just being with someone because you don’t want to die alone.

It’s comforting because Eduardo cares, because Eduardo either likes things with such passion tears well up in his soft brown eyes or he detests things with such contempt that his knuckles turn white as he bites the inside of his cheek.  
It’s comforting because Mark thinks that Eduardo likes him.  
And he likes him too.

 

\--

 

(i)

Mark buries his head in trembling hands, bitten fingertips raking through curls damp from the rain.  
He’s sitting in the corner of Dustin and Chris’ house, knobbly knees pinned to his chest and arms wrapped around his shins.  
Chris is saying something like you’re too skinny or you’ll catch a cold but Mark hears nothing but Eduardo’s soft laugh followed by how can I help you sir?

Through the gap in the door Mark can see Dustin and Chris arguing quietly in the kitchen, faces taut and reddening. Dustin keeps grabbing Chris’ elbow and saying something which sounds like plea but Chris ignores him as he fixes a marmalade sandwich for Mark.  
When Chris kicks at Mark’s ankles gently and hands the plate to him, Mark lifts his head, bloodshot eyes hollow holes in the dark, pink mouth twitching as the words slip from his lips.

“Did I hurt him that much?”

It’s more to himself than Chris and they both know it. They also both know that Mark did.

The plate falls from Chris’ fingers and shatters to the ground. His hands cup around Mark’s face, thumbs brushing along Mark’s cheekbones. Blue eyes meet blue for a second before Chris drops his hands and begins to pick up the shards around them in silence.  
Mark picks up the marmalade sandwich and brings it to his mouth, it tastes sweet on his lips but bitter to the tongue.

“You can give it to him Dustin.”  
Neither Chris nor Dustin looks at Mark as Dustin gives him a tiny gold piece of paper.

Dear Mr and Mr Hughes-Moskovitz.  
Eduardo Saverin has had Mark Zuckerberg erased from his memory. Please never mention their relationship to him again. Thank you.  
LACUNA, LTD.  
424 GRAND STREET, NY, NY

The matted paper slips through his fingers, hitting the ground with such a ruckus that Mark has to cover his ears. It's Eduardo’s laugh, it’s his laugh which makes Mark close his eyes and wish for the world to crumble around him.

 

\--


End file.
